Page 1 of Run of Ruin

PART ONE

THE CHALLENGERS

CHAPTER

ONE

Bex

I memorizedevery face on that stage, knowing one of them would soon be dead. Someone had to remember them. Someone needed to remember who they were before they were reduced to another name on a list. For me, it was easy, I remembered everything. Every detail. Every second. Every breath. People called it a gift. My little brother, Jax, called it my superpower. But it wasn’t a gift… it was a burden. Because what people don’t get is that the bad things stick just as hard as the good. The screams, the blood, the moments you’d give anything to forget, they never fade. So I learned to use it. If I had to carry the memories anyway, I’d carry the ones no one else would. The ones that mattered. The ones that might otherwise be lost.

Every year, in the last few painful minutes before the vote, I studied the faces of the candidates, giving them a private eulogy of my own. It’s not supposed to be this way, of course.Nova Locksley, the polished puppet of Praxis, never fails to remind us that they’re not meant to die. But they almost always do. The truth is, no one from Canyon Collective ever survives the Reclamation Run. So, I make sure to memorize their fearful expressions, imprinting their faces in my mind. It’s the least I can do for them, after our people have condemned them to a death sentence they never stood a chance of escaping.

My feet sank into the dusty covered ground, wedged between sweaty bodies as we waited for the result of the vote. My brother’s good hand clung to mine. I looked down at him, smiling softly. He squinted up at me against the brightness. If he could, he would’ve raised his free hand to shield his eyes, but he lost the use of it months ago. Shifting my body, I leaned into the sun’s path, casting a shadow over him to offer a brief reprieve for his eyes.

“Who did you vote for, Bex?” Jax had asked me this morning, as we sat across from each other at the kitchen table. The table’s surface was worn and uneven, the legs wobbling drastically beneath it. We’d lost the lumber trial last year, so new furniture was a luxury the Canyon Collective wasn’t allowed. Not that I’d have enough money to pay for it even if we had.

I paused, considering his question. He asked it so casually, as if we weren’t sending someone to die to secure our survival. He was too young to fully understand, and his innocence made it all the more painful. I gave him a soft smile, my gaze drifting over his fragile form.

He held the spoon in his right hand, his grip wavering. His fingers trembled slightly, the joints of his hand stiffening with each movement, struggling to maintain their grip on the utensil. The tremors were subtle, but I could see them. The slow, steady progression of the illness that claimed him. It hadstarted with his legs, making it harder for him to walk, to run. And now, it kept stealing more from him every single day.

“I voted for Rexen,” I said, lifting the cup to my lips, letting the warmth of the bone broth seep through me. Rexen was the oldest candidate and the only one with any real schooling under his belt, a reminder of the years when the Canyon Collective used to perform better in the education trials. He was the only one who might have a chance in the mental challenges this year.

I lowered the cup slowly, my fingers curling around the rough edges. “He’s got a shot at the medical trial,” I added quietly.

We had a few herbal remedies, simple, but effective against minor ailments. Still, there was only so much that we could do for Jax. His illness was beyond the reach of our limited resources, and I couldn’t ignore the weight of that fact any longer.

For years, I’d used my vote to try and send someone who could win the mental challenges. Someone who could think outside the box. But more often than not, my choice was overridden. They’d always pick some muscle-bound contender, hoping they could secure the physical resources. I understood the logic, even if it was flawed. Those Challengers were usually dead before the medical trial ever started. And I needed someone who could help Jax, someone who might stand a chance of saving him. For a brief time, I wondered if I could have done it. If I were one of the elected. Would I be able to secure what Jax needed?

But I’d never be one of the candidates. Not if I could help it.

“I voted for Ezra because I like his name!” Jax giggled, his eyes sparkling with an innocence that made my chest tighten. A wave of guilt rushed through me. Every member of theCollective could cast their vote for the Challenger, even if they didn’t truly understand what it meant, or what it cost. Even Jax, so young, had no real grasp of the consequences. I hadn’t done a good job of raising him to understand it either. Maybe I’d tried too hard to shield him, but I wasn’t exactly prepared to become a parent at twenty when our mother died giving birth to him. Seven years later, and I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

“By the will of the Praxis, you are welcome,” Nova’s screechy voice pulled my attention back to the stage.

“For the will of Praxis, we arrive,” the crowd murmured in unison, our voices flat. Nova’s eyes scanned us, disappointment flickered in her gaze at our lack of enthusiasm. She stood tall, draped in the signature color palate of Praxis, metallic silvers and golds. Her skin-tight jumpsuit clung to her, the fabric clearly unsuited for the desert heat. I felt sweat begin to bead on my skin just watching her.

I wore a much more lightweight garment, fit to protect my skin from the sun’s harsh rays, but cool enough to keep my body temperature from spiking to dangerous levels. Nova was going to pass out in ten minutes if she didn’t get out of this sun. I’d be lying if I said that wouldn’t be entertaining to see.

Nova smiled warmly at the camera, her face instantly flooding the massive screens towering behind her. Overnight, the barren desert outside our Hub had been transformed into a vibrant, overblown and chromatic spectacle. We hadn’t won a technology trial in over two decades, so there was no infrastructure here, no equipment to stage their little show. At least not to their standards. Not like Steelheart, where screens lined every street corner from what I’ve seen on my outdated screen. Outside of Praxis, they were the next biggest purveyors of entertainment and technology.

Most of our Collective still watched the ReclamationRun on ancient, half-broken screens, some flickered, colors warped and distorted, with audio that crackled like it was underwater. Praxis a few years ago, despite our pathetic performance in past technology trials, donated a few screens for common spaces. Out of the goodness of their hearts, they claimed. But we all knew better. They just wanted to make sure we could watch our Challenger win or die in vivid, unflinching detail.

“Who do you think is gonna win?” Jax whispered up at me, leaning his tiny body into mine for support. I tried to get him to stay home, this much excitement and walking was bound to prove too much for him, but he insisted and I can’t say no to him.

“I don’t know, sprout,” I replied quietly. But what I wanted to say was ‘Nobody ever wins.’

I sensed someone approaching and turned to find the familiar grey eyes of my best friend.

“Ava,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips.

She returned it with one of her own, steady and warm, as her crutches pressed into the sand with each step. The soft crunch of their weight was rhythmic, almost comforting.

When we were kids, she lost her leg to a relentless infection, one that would’ve taken her life if it hadn’t been for the rare luck of having medical personnel in our Collective that year. One of the last years we were granted that kind of grace.

She survived, scarred, altered, but unbroken. Down a leg, yes, but she never let that slow her down. Ava never let the loss affect her. If anything, it seemed to make her fiercer. Stronger.

“Morning,” she said, reaching around me to smile at my brother, and rub her knuckles along his scalp. “How’s it going today, little dude?”

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